Title: Darkness
Author: Ciara
Summary: Set in... SEASON 7! A little crazy, angsty vingette on Spike's inner turmoil. Spoilers, for like... The season premiere. I think.
Author's Note: I so haven't written anything in forever. Be gentle. *bets story*.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. He owns mah sooooooooooooul. Like, all James Browny.
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With a laugh, he was suddenly back in his hole. And, if he really tried, he could snuggle up into it and become nothing. Nothing! Just... like... that. The blackness of it all would swallow him right up and everything would go away, like magic. Lovely magic. And he'd sink oh so softly right into the nothingness that cradled him, and there he'd sleep and sleep and sleep... just like Goldilocks. Lovely yellow hair, spread on a pillow of dark.
Right up until the bears would come storming back in. Right back in, and wake him from his slumber, confronting him with his crimes. All those deaths, all that porridge... It was unbearable. And at that point the hole would fall away and he was suddenly sitting in his corner, starring at a crack in the weathered basement walls of Sunnydale High.
And It hurt. And It was so painful. Oh god, he couldn't bear it. The porridge. The blood. Red, all red...
He shuddered involuntarily, and suddenly he wasn't in his corner anymore. He was in Paris. It was 1931, And at his feet was a 4 year old boy. Mama! MAMA! The boy was yelling at him, and he was bleeding and the blood was everywhere. Monsieur, stop that!! That little bleeding boy was screaming.The world shook, and the boy was gone and Spike was crying again. The tears felt hot and painful running down his cheeks. So many tears. Like raindrops on his face as he slaughtered that couple in Moscow so many years ago. He remembered the woman crying Nooooo as he removed her clothes brutally, grinning that horrible scalding grin. And suddenly he wasn't in Moscow, he was in a bathroom, cold and gray. The woman was wearing a bathrobe and crying at him, Noooo, Spike! NO... Oh god, What had he done? Where was his blackness now, now when he was so tortured? This was wrong, so sad. All that Porrriidgge, he thought, clawing his fingers across his face. Horrifying. Horrible. Horror. Hideous. He was Hideous. Horribly Hideous.All these dancing faces ran across his memory, crying, screaming, bleeding... When would it ever stop?
It hadn't been this bad at first. God no. At first, it had been bearable. Bears. Chasing him away from his darkness. He could sit in the darkness at first. Ignore all the horrible voices telling him off for being naughty so long. He used to be able to ignore them. All the way back to Sunnydale, he'd been Fine and Daaaandy, thank you ma'am. But his mental health had been decreasing slowly, falling down that slope of sanity. Tumbling and bouncing and finally coming to a final slump at the bottom as he'd gotten back to his crypt. His crypt. Some creepy little minions had occupied his beautiful crypt. And he'd been in no real state to get it back. So, school basement it was. There he'd had a good month or so to dwell over ever. Single. Sin. He'd eeeveer committed. A photo album of death and rape and torture and oh god, what had he done? And it really hadn't helped as the walls around him had physically mindfucked him even further. Those naughty walls, taking advantage of poor little William's mental state. Poor Little William. Telling him all about their plans, about their terrible, horrible plans. Horribly Hideous.
Oh, and of course she'd showed up around then. Buffffffyyy. He was in the bathroom again. Noooo, Spike! NO! Those tennis shoes. Who wears tennis shoes from their bedroom to their bathroom? Oh, my... Yes, She had shown up and the walls had started screaming at him. Reminded him of all those horrible things he'd done. All the horrible things. Remember when you sold them all to that crazy robot man, Spike? Reeemmmeember!
He remembered. He did nothing BUT remember. It hurt so much.
Maybe if he stared long enough, that crack in the wall would swallow him. And then, then there'd be darkness. Lovely darkness. Goldilocks, get to sleep. All that porridge, Mmm... Mixed with blood, bloody mary...
What lovely porridge.
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Author: Ciara
Summary: Set in... SEASON 7! A little crazy, angsty vingette on Spike's inner turmoil. Spoilers, for like... The season premiere. I think.
Author's Note: I so haven't written anything in forever. Be gentle. *bets story*.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. He owns mah sooooooooooooul. Like, all James Browny.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With a laugh, he was suddenly back in his hole. And, if he really tried, he could snuggle up into it and become nothing. Nothing! Just... like... that. The blackness of it all would swallow him right up and everything would go away, like magic. Lovely magic. And he'd sink oh so softly right into the nothingness that cradled him, and there he'd sleep and sleep and sleep... just like Goldilocks. Lovely yellow hair, spread on a pillow of dark.
Right up until the bears would come storming back in. Right back in, and wake him from his slumber, confronting him with his crimes. All those deaths, all that porridge... It was unbearable. And at that point the hole would fall away and he was suddenly sitting in his corner, starring at a crack in the weathered basement walls of Sunnydale High.
And It hurt. And It was so painful. Oh god, he couldn't bear it. The porridge. The blood. Red, all red...
He shuddered involuntarily, and suddenly he wasn't in his corner anymore. He was in Paris. It was 1931, And at his feet was a 4 year old boy. Mama! MAMA! The boy was yelling at him, and he was bleeding and the blood was everywhere. Monsieur, stop that!! That little bleeding boy was screaming.The world shook, and the boy was gone and Spike was crying again. The tears felt hot and painful running down his cheeks. So many tears. Like raindrops on his face as he slaughtered that couple in Moscow so many years ago. He remembered the woman crying Nooooo as he removed her clothes brutally, grinning that horrible scalding grin. And suddenly he wasn't in Moscow, he was in a bathroom, cold and gray. The woman was wearing a bathrobe and crying at him, Noooo, Spike! NO... Oh god, What had he done? Where was his blackness now, now when he was so tortured? This was wrong, so sad. All that Porrriidgge, he thought, clawing his fingers across his face. Horrifying. Horrible. Horror. Hideous. He was Hideous. Horribly Hideous.All these dancing faces ran across his memory, crying, screaming, bleeding... When would it ever stop?
It hadn't been this bad at first. God no. At first, it had been bearable. Bears. Chasing him away from his darkness. He could sit in the darkness at first. Ignore all the horrible voices telling him off for being naughty so long. He used to be able to ignore them. All the way back to Sunnydale, he'd been Fine and Daaaandy, thank you ma'am. But his mental health had been decreasing slowly, falling down that slope of sanity. Tumbling and bouncing and finally coming to a final slump at the bottom as he'd gotten back to his crypt. His crypt. Some creepy little minions had occupied his beautiful crypt. And he'd been in no real state to get it back. So, school basement it was. There he'd had a good month or so to dwell over ever. Single. Sin. He'd eeeveer committed. A photo album of death and rape and torture and oh god, what had he done? And it really hadn't helped as the walls around him had physically mindfucked him even further. Those naughty walls, taking advantage of poor little William's mental state. Poor Little William. Telling him all about their plans, about their terrible, horrible plans. Horribly Hideous.
Oh, and of course she'd showed up around then. Buffffffyyy. He was in the bathroom again. Noooo, Spike! NO! Those tennis shoes. Who wears tennis shoes from their bedroom to their bathroom? Oh, my... Yes, She had shown up and the walls had started screaming at him. Reminded him of all those horrible things he'd done. All the horrible things. Remember when you sold them all to that crazy robot man, Spike? Reeemmmeember!
He remembered. He did nothing BUT remember. It hurt so much.
Maybe if he stared long enough, that crack in the wall would swallow him. And then, then there'd be darkness. Lovely darkness. Goldilocks, get to sleep. All that porridge, Mmm... Mixed with blood, bloody mary...
What lovely porridge.
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